Filthy Human
by Numb Virus
Summary: My first fic here dear readers/writers moreover it's about a complicated character if I may say so. To sum it up: it's a moment in the begining of Hao's 1000 years of life. In the end, he is human whether he likes it or not, just like ...us :) R&R / second chapter is rated for mentions of sexual abuse of minors.
1. human on the run

**Disclaim:**** I own nothing … well that was unexpected ,ne? **

**O*O*O**

The sounds, his head is filled with their suffocating sounds. Their thoughts kept trying to take over. Each breathing second he hears them, behind sealed lips, they revel to him their darkest desires, their sweetest dreams, many wonders, mush more horrors, but, in either case, it's all about them. For their own benefit, they live on that principal thinking that it is right to do so. In the end, if you don't care for yourself, no one will. If you don't protect yourself, they'll crush you. If you don't gain that mighty strength that will able you to survive, you will never be able to live.

That point rang in his mind, suddenly blocking all other interfering information that were previously pouring out of each of these filthy humans as they wondered the streets where he set shadowed in a dark corner of a joy-house from which drunken men went out, all escorted by ungracefully giggling geishas. He, the fox kid: the demon, as they called him. Why was he interested in staying alive ? Life was cruel , like them. Death would be much better. If he dies, maybe he will find his way back to his mother's arms, away from those onis his hatred keeps creating , away from humans.

Still, he had no intention on dying, never, not before they all pay. Not before he gets his revenge , not before he became stronger than them weaklings. Not before they all bend their heads, sink to their knees and shake from fear in front of him.

Yes, he was not about to give up. He was going to live and get his revenge, even if in order to do so he'll have to defeat death itself and prove ohachio wrong- life was not that precious of a thing to gain, not when your heart and soul are already dead.

A man walked in front of him, hissing " demon" before throwing an empty bottle of sake to the ground then loosing balance and falling backward on his behind, fainting in the spot due to the amount of alcohol in his system. Looking down at the man with disgust , he smirked that smirk which was forever going to be his.

They all would've been lucky if he was indeed a demon, for he would not have gave in to his thirst for payback. Alas, he was, as his only friend told him, "oh, so human".

He got up, undusted the light stained fabric that covered his frail body then walked away into the unknown, an army of onis behind his back.

His path has already been decided, if only it hadn't been such a lonely one.

**The end… but, not for him.**


	2. Joining the men To Join the Gods

**WARNING :**** spoiler alert if you didn't read ch 6&amp;7 of the zero serie.**

**DISCLAIM :**** I do not own shaman king, I own nothing at all except my brain and laptop(both which don't work so well).**

**O*O*O**

A young man stud, proud and elegant in the dead of the night. Before him, the high ranks of the population, with closed mouths but open thoughts. Behind him, onis and demons here to demonstrate their respect for their master, himself. And, beside him, the man they all called "Emperor".

The teenager smirked, they were all here for his coming of age ceremony and, in their empty skulls, he could hear their whispered inner thoughts. Some didn't understand how a rent like him came to be so praised and dignified when, really, he was nothing more than a damned demon child. Some were intimidated of his great power, which was no longer in need to be proven and others forgot his origins, forgot his incredible capacities, to focus on something much lighter: his beautiful appearance beneath the glowing moon and twinkling heavenly dots.

' Superficial pigs.'

Back when he was younger, he hated the fascination that unworthy human beings had in his corporal envelope. He still remembered the man who tuck him in, out of the streets where his onis used to spread chaos: Tadatomo-sama. He remembered what he'd told him.

"_you poor boy who doesn't know how to love, shall I teach you the basics first-hands "_

That man didn't teach him a thing about love, but he did show him how weak he was. So weak that he couldn't even protect his frail body, the way he couldn't protect his mother- the only illustration of love he ever knew from her barbarious murderers. That's when he learned that those too fragile to face life's cruelty had to be eradicated. It was a logical, almost merciful, fact.

What also surprised him back then, was the jalousie that the pedophile's action raised in the boy who was with him, Daitaro. He hadn't an appealing face and people out casted him for it, so, he appreciated any sign of affection he was given by his mentor, no matter how violent, painful or degrading it might have been.

But that was all past. Now, Daitaro joined the spirits, crushed Tadatomo's soul and allowed him to gain the gratitude of their country's ruler.

Now, he was anything but weak. None of them could even finger him! He was as brilliant as his emblem, the stars. Yet, he wanted more. He knew he was light years away from reaching his ultimate goal, but he heard from a demon about something that might just help him reach it.

The shaman fight, a competition to choose the world's ruler. The winner was to be given powers beyond mortals' imagination.

At all costs, he was going to be Shaman king.

The monarch beside him, put his hand over his right shoulder. 'Don't touch me.'

" I here announce that our city's loyal savior has joined the ranks of men and left those of children. No longer shall he be called Mappa Douji but Asakura Hao, a name he allowed myself to choose for him. May the gods guard him, so that he can forever protect our world of light of all that lurks in the dark. "

The crowed applauded, the demons behind him kept silent as he smirked looking upward at the sky.

Today, he supposedly became a man, but, what he wished was to join those with the power worthy of gods.

**NV: I don't know if you read chapters 6 and7 of the zero series but I did and I was like " he rapped him!" . Well, an abandoned child in a time of war and darkness, it was to be expected. But, really, I was depressed for an entire week. ****Poor Hao T.T**


	3. Flames

**Before we go on, I'd like to thank those who reviewed last time, especially Asa-kuuki for her( or his? Sorry, idk) tip, which I tried to use. Hope the chap got a bit better.**

**DISCLAIM:**** I do not own shaman king , Takai does…lucky guy.**

* * *

Half-naked, covered in black demon blood, a young man in his twenties stud up, walking calmly above hell's lifeless lands. His long reddish-brown strands swinging right then left, following the tempo of his springy steps. The beige poncho masking his imaginary body's indecency reached his knees and was dripping his devilish victims' corporal liquids. So peaceful was his dark fiery stare, contrasting the barbarian deeds his hands so calmly committed.

His lips curving into a grin, he smiled lightheartedly. Some would've preasumed the man was a maniac, a psychopath who lost all sense of logic driven by a wicked insane. However, fortunatly for them, no one was there to comment his apparently illogical attitude. He was alone. King of his own personal hell. He killed its guardians, demons , onis, those who were to be his sole companions here. Ripping them apart, tearing their hateful bulky figures into useless pieces, so tiny.

It rang deep within his finally at rest mind: the silence.

No whispers, no strange thoughts, no plots hidden behind smiling façades, just one fact screaming the obvious: he was alone, again, roaming on his own. a killer, a hunter at a lost for prey, a 'monster' unable to fit among those he thought would chare his quest, shamans who were supposed to comprehend his driver, his undeniable judgment.

Alone for he had murdered his race, that of devils while he wished the extinction of those who were, as he had long learned, much, so much worst. Those he knew as lethal nuisance, a cancer, a virus spoiling a land he envisioned as a harmless, painless utopia.

It was all so ironic. His goal, his burdening duty was that of a savior, yet, here he was-sent back into his little realm by the one being he trusted. The one being he thought would ease his solitude: Matamune ,an animal whose soul had been polluted by his humanity, by the interference of his powers and psychological lunacy to the point of turning against him. He could still see the cat's sword flung up then into his abdomen, sentencing him to another five hundred years of soundless patience and bloody combats to preserve his essence among beings constructed out of pure hatred, jalousie, greed, desire, malice and terrestrial insecurities. All those pathetic sentiments filling human minds, spreading rooted deep inside their pumping hearts.

Oh, he could go, escape it all . Consume his strength, go back to a world so cold, a world far more torturing then what he was to experience down here in the purgatory of guilty souls. He could go back, back to everything painful and repulsive, but no. He knew what had to be done. He had to destruct negativity's concoctions, absorb their filthy world's venom, incorporating it into his very soul. It was the way for him to return stronger than ever and finally accomplish a victimized orphan's promise to one day make them all pay.

A promise made to the stars and beneath an ageless moon's glow… just for her to see, hoping she could hear when he knew her kind soul had been blown to ashes along with the modest rack he once was happy to call home. Happy to regain, holding her delicate hand that roughened due to the unending chores she had to do in order to put a meager bit of dehydrated bread on their old timber table… he missed her so . Her warm smile, her elegant stand, even her legendary left slaps whish always left him cupping a sore cheek , holding tears in …he never shed a tear. Crystal drops never watered his fiery eyes, instead, they solidified turning into ice daggers stabbing everything soft persisting inside.

Only one more time, see her face . Only one more time call her name. " Mother, come and save me!"

A stroke of nostalgia rumbling within him as, in silence, her voice, emerging from his dearest memories, came running to catch a heart he tried to harden. A delicate song, a lullaby saying: " it'll be alright".

His march stopped, his lower lip nearly trembling.

" Mother…", it was a pathetic murmur, heavy of sorrow. A sorrow only caused by the loss of a loved one and the need to reach beyond the dark, the way a child would search, desperately scanning cruel and unwelcoming surroundings, crying loud to find his way back to a motherly chest, to tine, weak arms which somehow were the only safe haven there was to seek. In his hopeful delusion, he waited, expecting to see an angel crash down into hell then, perhaps, carry him somewhere …to where she would be.

He waited where time lost its value, nothing happened.

Her voice faded as fast as it rose. Hands clenching into tight fists, behind gritted teethes, he cursed what was there for him to curse, himself. mad at his naïve longing, mad at his weakness. That secret wish, that feeble persisting will to trust and hope again and again no matter how many times he was to be betrayed. That need to be loved …to once more feel, know that someone will stay through the better, through the worst, someone who would accept a murderrer, accept an Oni, a king with no regrets and no remorse.

A family, anyone, as long as it kills this suffocating loneliness taking over him.

His gaze fell to the rocky red ground, bangs shadowing cagey orbs. This 'weakness', had been his downfall two times in a row.

It was to be banned, sealed away.

He was to kill, absorb the darkness, feed the fire burning in, burning him up.

Hatred was his strength. Abhorrence, his doubts murderer.

Doubts … questions lurking inside one's mind, am I right? am I wrong? Is it true? Am I fooling myself? what if? and repeated perhaps. All which stood as boundaries between one and his aims, never affected him.

Five hundred years ago, his mind was made, sculpted into hate, betrayal and deep loneliness.

The wind whirled within the great spirit, home of the dead. His strands flickered, fire danced around his still figure. The heat was invigorating, regenerating .

A stolen creature, which had pled one of its victims loyalty,stud behind said one quiet.

He tiled his head up, meeting no stars, no clouds, no sun, only the abyss of infinity. He smirked, lips simply curving to demonstrate his rebellion against their laws, their codes. To let them know, each and every single one of his restrictors, up to that who was currently seated in his throne...a smirk to prove himself free.

"So small…"

The flames absorbing, untamed , danced high, magnificently burning down hell. Reflecting into his dark irises, just to make it clear. He was going to preserve his soul, feed theirs to his grudge's inferno.

Fire, unmerciful, mesmerizing bliss. It was all he had left.

He was never to give up, it was never to die out .

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**I would appreciate it if you could signal any probable mistake. **


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